tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44275519698531594582017-07-23T02:07:53.516-07:00Sunny ImperfectionsSearching for life's silver liningsBeckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13950913466874278659noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427551969853159458.post-38881067609254526152014-07-24T18:04:00.002-07:002014-07-24T18:07:25.102-07:00Postpartum Mood and Anxiety Disorder coverage on the Diane Rehm Show (NPR)I want to share some important take-aways from the recent coverage of Postpartum Mood and Anxiety Disorders (PMAD) on NPR's The Diane Rehm Show. If you want to listen to the show,<a href="http://thedianerehmshow.org/audio-player?nid=19599" target="_blank"> click here</a>,&nbsp;or you can read the main points below:<br /><br />1) <i>According to leading experts, baby blues last about 10 days.</i> If your symptoms persist or become more severe, you are likely experiencing a PMAD. I wish I had known. I kept wishing away my symptoms and convincing myself they would pass.<br /><br />2) <i>Insomnia is a very common symptom of PMADs </i>and is not normal for new mothers to experience. Chronic insomnia exacerbates anxious and depressive symptoms. <a href="http://www.sunnyimperfections.com/search/label/Insomnia" target="_blank">My worst symptom of all.</a><br /><br />3) <i>Suicide is a leading cause of maternal death.</i> Women are dying.<br /><br />4) <i>PMADs are the leading cause of childbirth - more common than postpartum hemorrhages</i> yet doctors are not looking for risk factors or screening for PMADs after childbirth. My OB asked if I had experienced anxiety or depression in the past (a large risk factor) and when I answered yes, she said nothing...<br /><br />5) <i>Researchers are currently looking at a form of genetic testing to determine which women will be at risk for developing a PMAD. </i>Specifically, researchers are looking at the role estrogen plays in at-risk women.<br /><br />6) <i>If a woman considers her birth experience to be traumatic (subjectively), she is at a higher risk for developing a PMAD. </i>While by medical standards, I didn't have a traumatic birth, in my mind and still today, I believe I did. My epidural was mildly helpful for only half of the final stage of labor. I pushed for 3 hours and 20 minutes. Labor and delivery nurses told me the rule of thumb was to resort to c-section at 3 hours of pushing, simply because a woman no longer has the stamina to push any longer. They let me continue to push because my progress was "substantial." When I held my daughter for the first time all I remember is feeling angry and betrayed. I was in shock of what I had just endured and I couldn't shake the shock for a few days.<br /><br />7) <i>Placenta encapsulation - placentas are rich in nutrients but the verdict is still out on whether they can protect against PMADs.</i><br /><br />Let's keep supporting and educating. This is every one's business.<br /><div><br /></div>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13950913466874278659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427551969853159458.post-33471775398096070632014-05-07T14:38:00.001-07:002014-05-07T14:41:14.315-07:00I swore I'd never get a mom chopI did it. I cut my hair short - quite short for Becky standards in fact. I always swore I wouldn't run to the salon after having a baby like so many other moms do to get the infamous MOM CHOP. When moms would tell me they just HAD to cut their hair because of the baby pulling on it or because of the lack of time for washing, blow drying, and styling, I would think to myself, I'll never do that - I will keep the long locks I love and deal with it. Well, like so many other things I told myself I wouldn't do when I had kids, I did it. The fact is, my baby takes chunks of my hair and pulls as hard as she can while being held, when breastfeeding, you name it. I also am absolutely incapable of styling my hair everyday, but when I do, I need to do it in record time - no standing in front of the mirror admiring myself like I did pre-baby. Life has changed. And now I want to go back to that person I was before I had my daughter and tell her to shut up, to not judge, to understand that every parent does what they need to do to stay afloat. Having a child is hard so be nice to those mamas who may seem to do weird things to keep their sanity. If you have no children, then how can you possibly judge anyway. If you do have children, well then you know you'll do just about anything to make life just a little bit easier.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M2iz7GMm1Yg/U2qntZ3FlAI/AAAAAAAADYA/I6J4N-ihKHY/s1600/Photo+62.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M2iz7GMm1Yg/U2qntZ3FlAI/AAAAAAAADYA/I6J4N-ihKHY/s1600/Photo+62.jpg" height="536" width="640" /></a></div><br />Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13950913466874278659noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427551969853159458.post-12151708777214669082014-04-23T07:18:00.001-07:002014-05-06T17:17:30.659-07:00My worst symptom of allMy bedroom scares me. When I walk into the dark room at night and slowly pull back the covers on my bed, I feel the anxious ball of energy beginning to form in my stomach. I hear the thoughts telling me my insomnia could come back - that there's no guarantee I'll get the sleep I need tonight. I struggled with severe insomnia for the first few months of my daughter's life. It was the beginning of my Postpartum Anxiety and by far the worst symptom I struggled with. I have waited to write about it because I still fear its unwelcomed return. When I talk out loud about it I'm afraid I might awaken that part of my brain again - the part that kept me up all night knowing I had a high needs baby to take care of the next day and everyday thereafter.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jCkWoR0DL8k/U2kxW3uqVBI/AAAAAAAADW0/QILJVliE1Yc/s1600/DSC_0044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jCkWoR0DL8k/U2kxW3uqVBI/AAAAAAAADW0/QILJVliE1Yc/s1600/DSC_0044.JPG" height="200" width="180" /></a>I think I could fill a book with my experience of insomnia and how it will probably haunt me for the rest of my life. It's so difficult to explain to someone who's never had it. People think that when they've stayed up all night out of choice or endured a sleepless night only to make up for the lost sleep the next day, that they understand. Oh no, there is a reason that criminals are made to stay awake for hours on end during interrogation. That reason is because insomnia is a form of pure torture. It's like having a monster screaming in your face all night, "I will not let you sleep." You hear the screams as your body simultaneously is trying to shut down - to get rest. Your brain won't let it though because your anxiety is in control now and you might as well give up.<br /><br />I tried giving up here and there. I would leave my bed to read a book. Once I even tiptoed into my daughter's room while she slept and organized the clothes in her closet. I might as well be doing something right? Experts suggest you leave your bed after about 30 minutes of sleeplessness and return after you've distracted your brain for a bit. In short, nothing the so-called experts suggested worked for me. I felt doomed. And when I started to believe I would never be able to sleep well again, I lost hope in my ability to be me - to function as Becky, mother, wife, colleague, sister, daughter, etc. In sets a deep depression and relentless anxiety. The depression and anxiety gained more and more power which diminished the chances of me sleeping ever more. The cycle had started and it's ferociousness was no match for this scared new mama.<br /><br />After trying every natural remedy known to man, I began the long process of trying out different medications to break the cycle. The journey to finding the perfect treatment for me was painstakingly long. I was sleeping an average of 3-4 hours every 3-4 days and if you were one of those people who suggested I nap during the day, I would have given you the death stare I'm sure. Napping was not an option for someone with Postpartum Anxiety like mine so I shuffled through the days on the very limited amount of sleep I was getting. Because of the support of some great professionals and my own built-in support system, I found a combination of treatments that worked for me.<br /><br />Last night I slept from 9pm-5am, woke for a few minutes to check the time and my baby on the video monitor, and back to sleep I went until 6:20am when my baby woke. I'm looking for wood to knock on as I write this. I'm on my way to being me again and I can't tell you how sweet a feeling that is, but I can't help but wonder how long my bedroom will haunt me.&nbsp; Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13950913466874278659noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427551969853159458.post-67727327374448813772014-03-31T07:30:00.000-07:002014-03-31T11:12:25.965-07:00Why I love FrozenI'm going to play the <u>new mom card</u> again to justify why I am completely behind on the 2014 movie scene. I did, however, watch half of the Oscars before I passed out at my new mama bedtime of 9:00pm. So at the very least, I now know what movies "might" be worth spending my precious spare moments watching in the next few months.<br /><br />I sat down to watch Frozen this past weekend with my two nieces 2 and 5, and my almost 6-month-old daughter. I had heard about this movie in passing - something about this song called, "Let It Go" and how kids all over the US just couldn't stop singing it! My sister said I must see the movie, so we all cuddled up for an afternoon of Frozen fun.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zxvhQsR_Rq0/UzmvEboVitI/AAAAAAAADVg/lCwIhtIC5DI/s1600/Anna-Frozen-Free-Wallpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Frozen" border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zxvhQsR_Rq0/UzmvEboVitI/AAAAAAAADVg/lCwIhtIC5DI/s1600/Anna-Frozen-Free-Wallpaper.jpg" height="125" title="Frozen Movie" width="200" /></a>Twenty four hours later, this "busy" mama had magically made time to watch the movie 2.5 times, download "Let It Go" on iTunes, and listen to it too many times to count. My husband looked at me with judging eyes and my sister, who told me I HAD to see the movie, called me a "loser." Even my sweet daughter stared at me with confusion as I belted out, "love is an open door" with absolute gusto! Still, I'm not ashamed to say it, I LOVE Frozen! In fact, you might even catch me singing, "Do you want to build a snowman?" the next time I'm walking through the Frozen food section at the grocery store. <br /><br />Besides the amazing music, impressive animation, and adorable writing, I'll tell you why I <i>really</i> love this movie. I'd warn this is a SPOILER ALERT, but I actually think I might be the last person in the country to see this movie. Seriously.<br /><br />So you know how in many fairy tales, something goes awry and an act of true love is required to make things right? Like in Snow White, when the prince has to kiss Snow White in order for her to awaken from her death, or in Beauty and the Beast when Bell has to fall in love with the Beast in order for him to turn into a man again? Well in Frozen, a story of two sisters, the act of true love that has to occur to save one of the sisters is not fulfilled by a kiss, or a sweet romance, but instead by an act of love between two sisters. Now how refreshing is that? It makes sense, right? So many little girls (and boys) watching these movies don't care about kissing, or romantic love, but they can understand and appreciate the story of friendship and sibling love. Perhaps I love this movie so much because of the friendship and unconditional love I share with my two sisters. Sisterly love is truly special and this movie shows how deep and absolutely fulfilling that love can be. <br /><br />I can't wait for my daughter to see this movie when she's a bit older, although I don't look forward to the <i>sshhhhhinnngggg</i> I'll receive when I try to sing along with every song. I can hear it now, "Mom, please, I'm trying to watch the movie!"Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13950913466874278659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427551969853159458.post-82034472029290364372014-03-27T07:41:00.000-07:002014-03-30T14:19:49.807-07:00I had a friend come overSince my daughter's birth most of my visitors have been family and close friends. So when one of these visitors come knocking I don't care much if I have dirty pots in the sink, if my mascara is under my eyes instead of on my eyelashes, or if I smell like old breast milk. I am a new mom (wondering now how long I can claim that title), and I know it's no good pretending I always have it together, because I don't. <br /><br />This week I had to totally check myself when I decided to, drum roll please, have a NEW friend come over. A person who didn't know me and my awful lack of style when overtired and overwhelmed. Who didn't know that every morning I lay on my couch and spend about 10 minutes pondering whether a shower today is really necessary. Who also didn't know that putting on a real bra and a pair of jeans literally feels like getting dressed for a big interview. Oh my goodness, did I have some work to do.<br /><br />Here's some of my thought process from yesterday morning to show you that 5 months in, I still struggle - oh how I struggle.<br /><br />1) Baby wakes: "<i>Yes, Becky, daughter needs to come immediately out of pajamas and into cutest outfit she has.</i>" Go to closet, sift through clothes. "<i>Pajama, pajama, pajama, ugh I'm tired, okay here's a pink onesie - not the cutest, but better than pajamas</i>."<br /><br />2) Sit on couch for only 5 minutes: "<i>Yes, Becky, you have to take a shower - you have greasy hair and you smell funky. But, can't I get away with some dry shampoo and new underwear? No, you SMELL. And, you used the dry shampoo yesterday...go to the shower, NOW!</i>"<br /><br />3) After shower: "<i>To blow dry and <strike>straighten</strike> (oh get real), to blow dry, or not to blow dry?</i>" Baby cries, go to baby, decision made... <br /><br />4) The house: "<i>It's pretty clean actually (baby can't move much yet), do I clean up the dirty dishes though or vacuum? No, I don't want it to look too clean - I can't have her thinking that I'm perfect, because I'm so NOT perfect.</i>"<br /><br />5) Sit on couch again, it's 10am, and I'm totally exhausted. Friend arrives with baby. Both looking very put together...talk with friend: "<i>She's so down to earth and totally gets how hard this is. She's a lot like me, actually.</i>"<br /><br />6) Friend leaves: "<i>Maybe next time I'll just do the dry shampoo.</i>"&nbsp; <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NfYUeIhUUYY/UzQ8DJMcm2I/AAAAAAAADVM/XpKGCy-Osf4/s1600/DSC_0026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="new mom" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NfYUeIhUUYY/UzQ8DJMcm2I/AAAAAAAADVM/XpKGCy-Osf4/s1600/DSC_0026.JPG" height="200" title="new mom" width="153" /></a></div><br />Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13950913466874278659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427551969853159458.post-58476544202511224412014-03-21T09:40:00.000-07:002014-03-21T09:40:35.827-07:00Colic what?There were so many challenging things about having a baby with colic. Too many to talk about in one blog post. One thing that stands out today and that has bothered me since I found out my daughter had colic is, why didn't any one warn me? Now I don't want to throw a big pity party for myself or for other parents of colicky babies that read this, but seriously, why is it that after nine months of pregnancy and weeks of having a newborn, I couldn't define for you what colic was? Shouldn't someone have told me?<br /><br />I went to numerous birthing classes, met with my OB a gazillion times, spent three nights in a hospital surrounded by people that know babies better than any of us, and never, not once, did anyone mention, "You might have a baby that cries a lot, and here's what you should do." Even my pediatrician, who I love, maybe mentioned the word in one of our first visits, but never explained what it was, what to look for, or what to do if it happens. When we were in the hospital, the labor and delivery nurses had my husband and I watch the infamous, "Happiest Baby on the Block," video, and yes it helped us learn how to swaddle and shush in our baby's ear, but it didn't mention that word that I'm honestly so sick of saying, colic.<br /><br />I read a few pregnancy books, and honestly, I skipped the pages about colic. When I was pregnant I never thought my baby would be difficult, I always imagined that I would have a baby that could be soothed when her mama held her, not scream in her face for hours on end. What first time mama has those thoughts when she's pregnant? I sure didn't.<br /><br />Sometimes I wonder if it would have mattered. If I would have had the definition of colic memorized and knew the warning signs, knew when to call her doctor to schedule an appointment, knew what was a normal amount of crying vs. an abnormal amount. I had no clue. It's not like it would have cured anything anyway since colic still, to my amazement, is so elusive and untreatable to this very day. It doesn't help matters that different doctors have different theories and no one stands united on a single cause or potential cure.<br /><br />It would have helped me to know sooner. When the pediatrician finally said the words, "It's colic," I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. It helped so much to hear her say that my husband and I were doing everything right and that we just had to be patient with this storm that would soon pass. New parents need all the encouragement they can get and I felt encouraged and hopeful when we left her office.<br /><br />So for all of you reading this that don't know what colic is, but might have a baby that cries a lot, might be expecting, might have a family member or a friend that could benefit from this knowledge, here you have it: Colic is defined as, according to <a href="http://www.webmd.com/parenting/baby/crying-colic-9/what-is-colic" target="_blank">www.webmd.com</a>, "A healthy, well-fed infant who cries for more than three hours per day, for more than three days per week, for more than three weeks." It affects 1 in 4 babies (that's a lot) and there is no known cause. Some doctors think it's caused by gastrointestinal issues like gas or reflux, while others think it's hypersensitivity to the environment caused by the child's innate temperament. Whatever the cause, if you think your baby cries a lot, the course of action is to visit a pediatrician and rule out any more obvious medical conditions, like acid reflux or an allergy. The sooner the better. In my case, I waited too long and it caused me a lot of unnecessary anxiety. <br /><br />So for baby #2, who will never cry, who will sleep well and eat well, now I'll know. Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13950913466874278659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427551969853159458.post-21341137935014698402014-03-18T12:07:00.002-07:002014-03-18T14:42:47.265-07:00You are the best thingThere are a lot of new babies in my life currently and more on the way. It seriously feels like a baby frenzy around here. I've sometimes felt badly that when I talk with these new moms or moms to be, I haven't had many positive things to say about motherhood. A good friend who just announced her pregnancy, asked me to write a post for her...words for a new mom.<br /><br />The truth is, even though my journey hasn't been easy so far, I didn't have to wrack my brain trying to think about what I love best about being a new mom. Amidst the pain and sorrow I've felt, I've also experienced a joy like no other kind I know. <br /><br />During the toughest days, my husband would try and cheer me up by telling me how much my baby loved me. The gloom I felt clouded my perception of everything, but I could always <i>see</i> my baby. With my husband's gentle reminders I began each day looking for her love for me. It was so obvious...staring me right in the face every time I looked at her. <br /><br />Her love for me is in the way she looks at me. The way she smiles and laughs at me. The way she is comforted by my touch. The way her eyes follow me when I move around the room. The way she makes little sounds in response to mine. The way I can soothe her like no one else can. The way she lights up when she sees me or hears my voice.<br /><br />Although she's still small, she knows her mama, and to her, I am the best thing.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cSLCIWAlq08/UyiXXh7nYGI/AAAAAAAADTc/KwRN88htTXw/s1600/DSC_0005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cSLCIWAlq08/UyiXXh7nYGI/AAAAAAAADTc/KwRN88htTXw/s1600/DSC_0005.JPG" height="103" width="320" /></a><br /><br />To my friend, you will soon experience a new kind of love that only a mother knows. You will be some one's mama, and your baby will think you are amazing. Even on the hardest days, when you've had no sleep, you've barely eaten, and you feel warm tears streaming down your face - your baby will look at you with so much love, and you'll know things will be okay. Now, I've heard this feeling doesn't last forever, that our children will defy us or say they hate us. But, I have to believe the bond will always be there, forever, and there is nothing more special than that.&nbsp; Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13950913466874278659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427551969853159458.post-49537178583460011602014-03-13T19:21:00.000-07:002014-03-18T14:42:28.228-07:00Reach outThe first question most people ask you when you're a new mom is, "How are you doing?" or "How are you feeling?" Braving a smile and downplaying my feelings got old for me real fast. Not only was it exhausting, but I began to feel like I was hiding something and that never feels good. <br /><br />When I finally accepted I had postpartum anxiety, I knew it was time to open up and tell people what was going on. After all, I didn't want people thinking the zombie I had become - my ragged face, perpetually low mood, disheveled everything - was the "new me." I wanted people to know I wasn't myself anymore and I wasn't sure if I ever would be again. <br /><br />I also wanted to tell people because I needed help. I don't know why it's so hard for new moms to ask for help. We want to show people we can do it on our own. I wanted to show people I could do it, that my colicky baby wasn't going to ruin me, and that I could handle being a mother. But the truth is, I couldn't handle it. Not even a little bit. Unfortunately, I waited for my worst days to reach out. I dug down deep, admitted defeat, and made those phone calls..."Please, please come help me with my baby. She's crying and won't stop. I didn't sleep last night and I don't have the strength to rock her all day." <br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"></div>After I got the help I needed, I began to tell more people about what was happening to me and then I witnessed something truly beautiful happen. I felt like a plant covered in two feet of snow, and with every new person I told, the snow melted a little bit more. I was coming alive again because I was embraced with love, support, and acceptance. Hope began to grow within me.<br /><br />My family and friends hugged me, cried for me, apologized to me, offered up everything to me. And then, I met new people who cared for me. <br /><br />On one of my worst days, my husband made a phone call to a colleague he hadn't spoken to in months. Our new baby came up in conversation and his colleague asked, "How is your wife doing?" My husband was a bit surprised by the question since it was months after her birth. He answered, "Well, the baby's been colicky and my wife isn't sleeping well." Without missing a beat, his colleague said, "My wife experienced postpartum depression with our first born and if your wife needs someone to talk to, please have her reach out to my wife." We met for coffee soon after and it felt so good to talk with someone who knew exactly what I was feeling without me having to explain.<br /><br />I reached out, I decided not to suffer in silence, and it's changed my life. In the two weeks I've been blogging, I've met beautiful people who want nothing more than to support another mama. Because the truth is, we all know how hard it is. <br /><br />No matter what ails you, postpartum depression, cancer, the loss of a loved one...reach out, reach out, reach out. Tell someone else what you're feeling. You might be surprised when the person you tell, hugs you, cries for you, or tells you, "I know exactly how you feel..."<br /><br />My theme song these days is Sarah Bareilles', Brave. Here are a few lyrics to inspire you:<br /><br /><i>Nothing's gonna hurt you the way that words do<br />When they settle 'neath your skin<br />Kept on the inside and no sunlight<br />Sometimes the shadow wins<br />But I wonder what would happen if you</i><br /><div class="verse"><i>Say what you wanna say<br />And let the words fall out<br />Honestly I wanna see you be brave</i></div><div class="verse"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rcdViqtwsSM/UyJSYOQ7XSI/AAAAAAAADTE/RI0IbUNNmGI/s1600/mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rcdViqtwsSM/UyJSYOQ7XSI/AAAAAAAADTE/RI0IbUNNmGI/s1600/mom.jpg" height="195" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom and me. Best shoulder to cry on.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="verse"><br /></div><div class="verse"><br /></div><div class="verse"><br /></div><div class="verse"><br /></div><div class="verse"><br /></div><div class="verse"><br /></div><div class="verse"><br /></div><div class="verse"><br /></div><div class="verse"><br /></div><div class="verse"><br /></div><div class="verse"><br /></div><div class="verse"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13950913466874278659noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427551969853159458.post-27082370205680978952014-03-11T08:38:00.003-07:002014-03-18T14:42:02.073-07:00Our baby got better, but mommy did not. “She doesn’t like to be passed around.” These words sounded muffled to me as I lay in my hospital bed recovering from the very hard birth of my daughter. I was sleep deprived, drugged, and still in shock from the amount of pain I felt during my first childbirth experience. Out of all the words uttered over those first days in the hospital, these words stuck with me, maybe because I sensed something even more overwhelming than childbirth was about to rear its ugly head. <br /><br />By our daughter's second week of life, my husband and I were blindsided by the realization that our precious, beautiful daughter who we so anxiously wanted to welcome in the world, wanted nothing to do with the world we brought her into. We found out much later that our daughter had colic, but for many more weeks we struggled to understand why our baby wouldn’t stop crying. Each week her crying became louder, lasted longer, and sent us into a very confusing and heartbreaking oblivion. She needed constant movement and holding, our bodies becoming sore and tired from squeezing her tight and not letting go for hours at a time. The exercise ball I bounced on in hopes of inducing labor became a permanent fixture in her nursery as we found the higher we bounced on it, the more her little body relaxed. <br /><br />From the first day I realized I didn’t have an “easy” baby, I began to have thoughts that I never, ever wanted to have. I wanted my old life back, I didn’t want this crying baby anymore, and I regretted what we had done by getting pregnant. It pains me to think my mind was capable of such thoughts, but that is what postpartum depression does. It hijacks the real you and turns you into someone you never want to be. Hopelessness comes quickly knocking at the door and won’t leave until you answer. <br /><br />As her colic worsened and peaked around 6 or 7 weeks, I started to fear I was losing my mind. I knew there was something wrong when after hours of soothing her and finally getting her to sleep, I lay in bed wired and wide awake. I feared what tomorrow would hold. Would it be worse, would she ever get easier? The insomnia lasted months and left me so weak mentally and physically that there were days when I felt I didn’t have the strength to hold my own child. <br /><br />As my anxiety and depression worsened each day, I decided to make an appointment with our pediatrician to get to the bottom of my daughter’s crying. I convinced myself that when my daughter got better, then so could I, and we could move on and live the life I had dreamed about during my pregnancy. When my daughter was 9 weeks old, the doctor confirmed that she did indeed have colic and that there was nothing we could do but wait it out and soothe her as best we could. <br /><br />I left the doctor that day feeling relief. We knew our baby was healthy, that the crying would eventually end, and that we were doing everything right. I tried to stay positive, but my insomnia had become severe, and my negative thoughts didn’t go away. In the weeks that followed, my daughter became more content and easier to manage as the doctor had promised, but my anxiety and depression were worsening. Our baby got better, but mommy did not. <br /><br />The day I realized I was sick was a day filled with complete disappointment. It wasn’t my daughter making me feel this way, it was something else. Something much more powerful and relentless. I cried in my mother’s arms telling her over and over, “I didn’t want this to happen to me.” I knew I was at risk for postpartum depression, but I never believed for a minute it would happen to me. I wanted to be a mother and I knew I would be a good one, but everything I wanted in those first months of my daughter’s life were taken from me. The constant pit in my stomach, the loss of appetite, the near panic attacks, the negative thoughts, the completely sleepless nights, the crying...I wasn’t me and I knew that what I was dealing with was outside of my control and I needed professional help. <br /><br />I’m recovering now and everyday I’m beginning to see small glimmers of hope - in my baby’s smile, her infectious giggle, in the way my husband looks at her like he’s never looked at anything else. My daughter is my everything and she is the reason I will keep fighting. I won’t give up. Soon these dark days will be behind me and I will bask in the sunshine of motherhood like I always knew I could.<br /><br /><i>If you know someone struggling with postpartum depression or anxiety - reach out and send them here. </i>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13950913466874278659noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427551969853159458.post-77597525804903882022014-03-04T12:00:00.000-08:002014-03-18T14:41:30.498-07:00Beauty in imperfectionWhen I lived in San Francisco my husband and I would frequent a small, local art gallery just a block from our apartment. It was one of our weekly activities usually stopping in before going out to dinner at one of our favorite neighborhood restaurants.<br /><br />During one visit a piece caught my husband's eye. It was oil on canvas and I admit after studying it for some time I didn't feel drawn to it quite like my husband did. Soon after that visit he purchased it without me knowing, spending a little more than I probably would have agreed to. Most of his impulsive purchases I admittedly end up liking and in this case, this painting has grown to be my favorite thing hanging on my walls. It is a painting of a colt, slightly submerged in swampy water - a piece in a series of the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. <br /><br />After hanging it in our apartment and looking closely at it from time to time, I began to be captured by something beyond the image in the painting. I saw the imperfections, or the so called flaws in the painting. I removed it from the wall and read the insert about the artist and her Flood Series. I learned the flaws were intentional. It was part of the "art". I looked even closer studying every brush stroke, the layered colors, the uneven frame. The imperfections spoke to me. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WobC6cRljW0/UxYID03jsKI/AAAAAAAADSQ/6awrJ0AEVhI/s1600/DSC_0071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WobC6cRljW0/UxYID03jsKI/AAAAAAAADSQ/6awrJ0AEVhI/s1600/DSC_0071.JPG" height="320" width="246" /></a></div>Part of the insert read:<br /><br />"These paintings are intentionally imperfect; reconstructed over abandoned canvases, frames built from torn up floorboards. These paintings "rebuild themselves" as objects of beauty despite flaws - a crack in the wood, a nail head showing, a strand of hair caught in the paint."<br /><br />I remember feeling so connected to the painting in that moment and still do.<br /><br />I've struggled with perfectionism and the painful anxiety that comes from not feeling like I can control every aspect of my environment. I've fought hard and still do to fix the cracks in my life, to pick out the strands of hair that seemingly don't belong. My anxiety has become so severe at times that I've missed out on the beauty of just living - the raw, untouched, uncontrolled moments when life just happens. <br /><br />Becoming a mother four months ago has truly tested by ability to let go of my need to control every outcome and be perfect. My baby is unpredictable, always changing, difficult, uncontrollable...but she is perfect. <br /><br />I hope this blog will help me evolve, heal, and remember that there is <i>beauty in imperfection</i>. <br /><br />This painting will forever remind me that some of the most beautiful things in life don't have to be perfect. Just let them be. Just accept them for what they are. Maybe then peace will come. Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13950913466874278659noreply@blogger.com12